


Rain Storm

by Beckie



Series: Whirlwind [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Book 1 (rewrite), Camellia Lily Potter (Harry Potter), F/M, Gen, Light & Dark magic, M/M, Magical Theory, Multi POV, No House Bashing, Not a manicheen universe (Not black and white), Politics, Pureblood Culture, Slytherin!Harry, female!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckie/pseuds/Beckie
Summary: PrologueJuly 31, 1980The night was dark but for the sky filled with thousands of stars, resembling white flower blooms.A cry pierced the atmosphere, coupled with the last efforts of the mother giving birth.The hot summer’s air was soft against their skin, enveloping the new family in its own peaceful world.A gentle breeze passing by an open window welcomed the newcomer, tickling her little ears with the‘whoosh’of its non-corporeal form.Leaning in the gentle caress, two eyes, as green as young fresh grass, opened.The tuft of dark red hair already present on the miniature head seemed to presage a flamboyant character, just as flamboyant as the white fires in the night sky of this ending day.Camellia Lily Potter was born.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_July 31, 1980_

The night was dark but for the sky filled with thousands of stars, resembling white flower blooms. 

A cry pierced the atmosphere, coupled with the last efforts of the mother giving birth. 

The hot summer’s air was soft against their skin, enveloping the new family in its own peaceful world.  
A gentle breeze passing by an open window welcomed the newcomer, tickling her little ears with the _‘whoosh’_ of its non-corporeal form. 

Leaning in the gentle caress, two eyes, as green as young fresh grass, opened. 

The tuft of dark red hair already present on the miniature head seemed to presage a flamboyant character, just as flamboyant as the white fires in the night sky of this ending day. 

Camellia Lily Potter was born. 

**oOoOo**

_October 31, 1981_

It was a dark and stormy night when Severus Snape felt the change. He only felt it because a headache he didn’t know he had stopped and he was feeling better for it.  
Suddenly, he ripped his left sleeve where his Dark Mark had been engraved, finding only a grey faded tattoo resembling more those of muggle nature than the moving ones of the Wizarding world. For a millisecond, Severus thought the impossible : _The Dark Lord is dead._ But the present caught with him pretty fast and the reason as to why his past master would be deceased tumbled in his mind only to weaken his knees and make him crash to the ground.  
Not five minutes passed before he stood up. _He had to know._ He couldn’t even imagine what horrible reality he would find there. 

Apparating to the blasted house he wasn’t supposed to see in Godric’s Hollows was another shock altogether. He gathered his strength for what he was about to do, taking a great, big breath he wasn’t ready to release. 

Walking in the street through the rubble of the exploded roof, he slowly made his way to the deadly quiet house. Entering the door, the picture greeting him didn’t bring him the joy he thought it would; for there on the dirty ground laid James Potter, his sworn enemy, dead. His hazel eyes were still opened, full of terror. Turning his head from the pitiful and bitter spectacle, Severus dreaded what he would find with every more steps his feet climbed. 

Finally arriving at the top of the stairs, the dust was worst in here, covering everything with many layers. Peeking through the door he suspected might be the nursery like a little child trying to sneak in, what he saw crushed the air out of his lungs, making him stagger under the weight of the tragedy he was the first to witness. 

Sobbing openly, he dragged his now quite heavy body on the ground until he was next to Lily, his sweet Lily now dead. Her flowing red hair cascaded around her tortured visage, just like the Red Sea or a blood-red sunset. Her empty green eyes staring unseeingly in the other world forever. Never to be alight with joy anymore. 

It was too much! Dead. Dead. She was dead. _Lily was DEAD! And it was all his fault,_ was the litany chanting through his mind repeatedly. 

In the mists of his painfully clouded mind, Severus thought he heard a whimper. _But no, it couldn’t be._ Still clutching the rapidly cooling corpse, the cries began to gain power until the prostrate man couldn’t ignore them anymore. 

Lifting his head, he caught sight of the baby girl crying loudly from the trauma of the attack. Without his usual fluidity of movement, Severus stood helplessly and towered over the crib, looking somewhat in a daze at the crying infant with red hair and green eyes. When the little tyke lifted her arms to be taken and comforted, Severus could not resist the imploring emerald eyes boring into his black ones and took the baby whom the cries faltered after a moment. 

It felt weird to grieve with a baby in his arms, Severus thought. A baby, whom had just lost both of her parents by his fault entirely. How could this girl ever forgive him when he would never? 

They stood there for some time before Severus returned to his seated place on the grounds across Lily. Still, he tightened his hold on the tiny human being cradled in his arms. He didn’t have one ounce of experience with babies, but even he could feel she needed affection now. Or maybe, he needed it.  
Finally, he examined the lightning bolt-shaped scar on her forehead, eternal reminder of this tragedy. He could only feel the loss of his best friend and only love at the movement. Everything was numb. 

Then the sounds of a motorbike stripped the night of its veil of silence and the dark brooding man of twenty one would never see the baby girl until her eleventh year…

**oOoOo**

_November 3rd, 1981_

Petunia Evans Dursley regarded the girl without bothering to hide her disdain after the old and weird, white bearded wizard’s departure.  
She wasn’t going to raise that _witch_ like the heroine her kind claimed her to be. They had killed her Lily, they had alienated her sister, and this stupid and arrogant James Potter had completely humiliated the Evans Family. Oh no! Petunia wasn’t going to treat Camellia Potter like a princess, just like Petunia’s parents had treated Lily when she had showed them her powers. Camellia would never make Dudley feel as if he were a failure and an insipid child because he had no _magic._ She would know that life was unfair and unpleasant. She would know at her core that she was _not_ special in any way. That the girl looked like Lily just added to the bitter taste in her mouth. She would make sure Camellia felt ugly and dirty and that boys didn’t notice her.  
_Oh! How the vengeance was sweet._


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter 1**

Rain.

I love rain.

When the night is dark, and the sky a mess of black clouds with the striking of pure white lightning. An unexpected tearing in this somber painting, followed by the deep rumbles of thunder. When the air of a hot summer weights on my body with its natural heaviness; enveloping me in its blanket to stop my breathing.

The humidity of the atmosphere acts like a gas chamber for the first few seconds that I step under the eternal curtain of hard water drops; sending my mind in an alternate universe, where I am nothing but a grain of sand in this deep, dark, troubled sea.

Suddenly, the wind is there, wild with fury; blinding my eyes when the hard water drops whip the soft skin of my visage. I can hear the whispers of the leaves in the trees, murmuring heatedly to the hidden moon; telling her how the wind, this pompous and arrogant personage, seems to think so highly of himself that he dares to caress their chlorophyll coloured robes so rudely. And only in the darkest of hours. As if they would let him glance once at their forbidden fruits.

Those obscure nights, unleashing the passionate wildness of nature, are the most poetic ones.

This quasi-obsession of mine with nature began early in my youth. Once, around seven years old, I was thrown out of the Dursley household. I did not finish my chores that day, and after making my family diner, cleaning the kitchen while they ate, I was told to stay outside where undeserving Freaks slept.

Of course, it had to be one of those obscure nights, wild with hot rain and wind, thunder shouting in my young and untrained ears while the lightning scarred my still almost innocent and naïve eyes.

I was afraid then; not only was I left trembling in this raging hell, but I could see flashes of this landscape when the white light would strike randomly.

I was not hidden anymore from the violence of the world. In my cupboard, it would be as black as a day during a solar eclipse. I would hear the house groaning and trembling under the fury of the raging elements, but I would not be their witness.

Then, the high-pitched howl of the wind caused the trees to rustle almost gently and I finally gave in, approaching them somewhat furtively.

Wanting to know if I could understand their secret conversations.

I put the palm of my hand upon the bark of a tree and I was surprised to feel it dry and still radiating heat from the hot sunny day. Almost immediately, as if drawn by a superior force, I encircled the thick trunk with my thin, skinny arms; resting my soft cheek upon the harsh but warm surface.

I then realized the protection offered to me. My tall and forbidding saviour protected me of Rain and Wind, rulers of the nights in summer’s kingdom.

Somehow, during one of the white flashes, I saw a low branch hanging close. Low enough for me to grab it and perch myself onto it. My new friend was welcoming me!

I climbed further, wanting to hide in the hollows of the trunk. The leaves were my roof and I felt safe for the first time that night, ensconced deep at the heart of my tree.

The rain and the wind continued their dispute for a long time, until only soft echoes of long forgotten watery cries could be heard, welcoming the first rays of the dawn.

Opening my eyes, I saw in the shy morning light some solitary water drops suspended from the silky green leaves, enacting as a prism and showing me a magical sight; that of multiple rainbows all around my little nest.

Since this night, I have often dreamt of being one of them; the elements, I mean; preferably the wind.

Free.

Wild.

Invisible.

 **oOoOo** – _June 23 rd, 1991_

“GIRL!”

“Coming, Aunt Petunia!”

 _BAM! BAM! BAM!_ (Can be translated as Dudley’s morning greetings on the stairs…)

This was a daily routine in the household of the Dursley family. Her being called anything but her name, and being ordered around as their slave. And, not to forget, the personal toy or punching bag of Dudley, her wretched cousin. They didn’t waste their time with her; as soon as she could be of use, she learned to earn her keep and be invisible.

If only her stupid drunken parents hadn’t had that car crash! Better yet, if only she had died with them! It would have been better for everyone, or so she was told repeatedly by her relatives.

Ten years later, she could frankly say that she quite agreed with them. She would do almost anything to go back in time and die with her parents. Surely, the heavens were more peaceful than this miserable life she was stuck with.

Today though, she did not know it yet, but it was the last day of her purposeless and nonsensical life.

Dudley’s birthday, on June 23rd, was always meant to be like a slap in her face.

Something to show her she would never have anyone caring about her and giving her presents and a family and _love..._ love she so craved in the deepest part of her heart.

That’s why she got up this morning no happier for her cousin to gain a year, for she thought privately that he may legally be eleven, but realistically, his intellectual levels were more of the scales of a six years old. She could hear him whine loudly in the sitting room about the lesser number of presents he had receive this year, and she wryly thought to herself that at least he had been able to count to thirty-six without stumbling over his numbers. All the while, she prepared breakfast for her personal’s whales shoal as she had taken to call them and internally snorted when Petunia placated the ungrateful boy by saying they would buy him two more presents on their way to the Zoo.

The Zoo. How she wished she could go to the Zoo. To see animals not normally living in the cold and rainy England and the more so dull and plain streets of Little Whinging. But such an activity would never be granted to her while she lived at the Dursley's.

Suddenly, the phone rang and her aunt hurried with all the dignity a woman of her standing could muster, surely thinking it was a call from one of Dudley’s friends or their family to wish her boy a happy birthday.

It was no such thing though, and she soon learnt it by the angry blue stare her aunt directed her way after the harsh exchange of words with the other speaker.

“Who was it, Pet?” Asked the Dursley patriarch after lowering his newspaper on to the table. Breakfast was almost ready and the rest of the trio took their place before Petunia answered, “It’s the cats woman, Figg. She broke her leg and won’t be able to watch over the girl while we leave today.”

“That good for nothing woman!” Muttered the older man.

“But I want to go to the Zoo! It’s my birthday! We can’t bring the Freak with us.”

“I know Diddydums, I don’t want her to come either. I just don’t like the thought of letting her alone in our home for the day.”

“Why can’t we just lock her up in her room?”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure—”

“Why son, that’s a wonderful idea!” Agreed his obese father while eating his fried eggs. “Come on, Pet, we’re not going to deprive our son of his birthday activity because of this girl’s every needs! If that Figg woman can’t keep her, then she’ll stay in her room for the day. I’ll just lock it up.”

“Well, if you’re sure darling. You heard that, _girl?_ Finish cleaning the kitchen then go take care of your business before returning to your room. I don’t want a stinking mess when we come back.”

The girl in question was almost finish washing the dishes after discreetly licking clean the remains on the plates and pan and nodded with her back still turned to them.

“What did you say, girl? I didn’t hear you,” asked her uncle angrily.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia. I’ll go to the bathroom before returning to my room,” she gave her response in a dull tone, taking care to leave the mocking edge unheard, for Vernon did not tolerate such insolence and would surely have taken it out on her.

Her uncle grunted in satisfaction at her reply, then pushed his chair and stood up, towering heavily over the table because of his bulk. She never bothered complaining anymore about the unfairness of her life, it was just the way things were. She would always be given only the most rudimentary things required to fulfill her needs, nothing more. And she was almost grateful for it. She never wanted to resemble her greedy, whiny cousin, not one iota. She grew up with the barest minimum of everything, be it material possessions or warm human contacts, and now she wouldn’t know how to live differently if someone offered it to her. She is used to fend for herself, her isolation now her only comfort for she could think and reflect on life’s many unanswerable questions in peace.

After putting the plates in the dishwasher and relieving herself in the loo, she slid in her cupboard and wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking in an unconscious manner to the sounds of the house. Too soon, she heard the distinctive _click_ of a padlock being put in place and it wasn’t long before the family left, her cousin bragging loudly about all the impressive and dangerous beasts they would see.

When she was younger, she hadn’t mind being trapped in her cupboard. It was _her_ place, a special place where no one but she could go. She was smaller then, it was like an enormous cave to hide herself. Then she read the tale of _Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,_ and she named her room — _Camellia’s cavern_ — where her family was cast as the villains, her cousin the Dumb Thief, her uncle the Food Thief and her aunt the Time Thief. Only she could unlock her room with the secret password _‘Open Sesame’_ and it was fun for some time. Then her body grew, but her cupboard did not. Now, she resented her room, even if it protected her from the external world. It wasn’t so big anymore and she didn’t think still of the spiders she often found there as friends.

She took her threadbare school bag full of holes and dug for something to occupy her mind. School only just ended this week and she had been successful in ‘borrowing’ some of Dudley’s unread books from past birthdays, most evidently dumped in his second bedroom as they were deemed uninteresting by the total dimwitted boy. She salivated at the thought of reading something else than boring school textbooks and she turned on the ceiling lamp as she retrieved the three tomes she had grabbed hastily the previous day. They were none other then classic literature, but she didn’t know why people bothered to gift her stupid and non-intellectual cousin with books he would never understand. She did not complain though, for _Animal Farm, Romeo and Juliet, and Oliver Twist_ laid in front of her, their pages waiting to be caressed with care, their words in ebullition for someone to understand and thread them swiftly like pearls on a small silver chain, an exquisite symphony in this world of never-ending chaos. 

Not too much time after she discovered the prejudiced world where lived the Montague and the Capulet did her attention shift on something else. Indeed, the distinct metallic ‘ _creak_ ’ of the mail slot resounded suddenly in the silent house and soon after, she heard a rasping sound coming near her place. The lonely girl stopped her breathing completely, her eyes fixed on the small wooden door of her cupboard and her ears straining to catch the merest noise indicating an intrusion. What she hadn’t imagine was for a white envelope of respectable proportions to slide under her door. Fearful in the beginning of the apparition, she wondered for a brief moment if it was Dudley playing a trick on her and mocking her for believing just one second that someone actually wanted to talk to her, even by letter. Then, she leaned over it and read the elegant script. She recoiled in a mix of fear and surprise as she acknowledged the meaning of the deep green inky words:

**_To Ms. Camellia Potter_ **

**_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_ **

**_**_4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_ ** _ **

_What is this,_ she thought. _Is there a spy who knows everything I do? Down to my most embarrassing secrets!? Impossible. No, this is a stupid trick from Dudley and his gang… Aunt and Uncle never acknowledge that I live in a cupboard, they just call it ‘her room.’ Only Dudley likes to rub it in my face that I don’t deserve a real room. But how could he have done it? I heard no one entering the house, just the mail slot… how could a simple envelope enter the house by itself? Crap! I hope it’s not my freakish business resurfacing. I thought I had chased it for good now. Well, it won’t hurt to open the stupid letter now I suppose. What’s done is done. Oh but shit! I don’t know I don’t know I don’t—don’t be a coward, Camellia! This is not the time to chicken out. If it’s the freakish stuff, you’ll just tear it and bury it when you take out the garbage. Okay, everything’s fine, just fine. Now just take the letter and open it. Slowly. It’s just an envelope. A silly little envelope— but I’ve never seen one so beautiful before…_

Camellia’s mind continued its nervous ramblings while she opened the mysterious creamy white envelope, pausing to take a big breath just before diving to read the text.

****

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_***_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_



_Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

_by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic_

_by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory_

_by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

_by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

_by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions_

_by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

_by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

_by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_1 broom (optional)_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus_

_Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions_

_****_

_It’s a very official letter,_ she thought after finishing. _It’s no work of Dudley, he never could have produced such a refined piece of evidence!_ Her mind was a whirlwind of jumbled thoughts and suspicions. It couldn’t be true. Magic did not exist. Magic wasn’t real. Magic was… magic was _Freakish._ Freakish just like her. Maybe that’s why they called her Freak; because she had magic. How could she explain the strange occurrences in the past years if not for magic? But the Dursleys would never allow her to go to that school! She was doomed! And how was she to respond to that even so? She had nothing to mail a letter, even less an owl! She didn’t even know where this ‘Hogwarts’ was! At least she had a little more than a month to find an alternative…

Camellia folded the long parchment carefully after letting her fingers trail on the beautiful penned letters of her name in forest green ink. She hid the treacherous envelope in the darkest corner of her small room, now the most precious treasure of her cavern. Camellia didn’t really want to return to her book, so she took a white loose leaf from her school bag and a functioning pen before starting to write a reply.

_Dear Mrs. McGonagall,_

_It is with my sincerest apologies that I must inform you of my ignorance of any school having a curriculum concerning ‘magic.’ As far as I am concerned, Magic does not exist. I am unsure if this is a prank, but if it is not the case, I am truly sorry to disappoint you for I will be in the impossibility to attend such a school. (I wish I could though!) Thank you all the same._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Camellia Potter_

There! That was a fine response if she had ever written one! It had taken her a good thirty minutes to come up with that, and she was torn between being proud or tearing it and writing that she absolutely knew what they were talking about and accepting their offer. Her aunt and uncle just wouldn’t let her go. That was a given. No need to torment herself more with the _‘what if’s.’_

Now that that was out of the way, she hid her reply as well to avoid misplacing it, thus leading to an unfortunate discovery by her relatives. She didn’t know how she would send it for she had no owl, but maybe something would come up in the next few days. Her stomach grumbled loudly in the eerily quiet house and she repressed the stab of longing for a good meal before returning to her forgotten book. Flowing sentences with fancy words would be her main course. After all, hadn’t someone said that words were food for the soul?

Without anything else to occupy her mind, Camellia finished first the Shakespearean masterpiece, then George Orwell’s small novel. She certainly did not understand all the references, but she found them interesting nonetheless. She could certainly relate to the animals being dictated and indoctrinated by the pigs, for she lived with pigs herself, just not as clever.

Thinking about said people so easily compared to mindless animals, Camellia heard the tell-tale sound of the front door being unlock and the three Dursley entering the house. Her peace was broken for who knew how long again now…

**oOoOo**

The opportunity she awaited anxiously presented itself later in the week. Her uncle had just left for his work and it seemed this Wednesday was going to be a sunny day. Dudley had monopolized the sometimes blessed silence of the breakfast to talk about the rather dull —in Camellia’s opinion— activities he and his friends were going to do during the day. At least he wasn’t going to harass her while she worked in or outside the house.

Just as she finished washing the dishes and cleaning the rest of the kitchen, her somewhat mitigated train of thought about the for’s and against’s of having Dudley out of the way was interrupted by her aunt.

“Girl. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

“Well, today seems as good a day as any to do some work outside, as I’ll not have our flowerbeds full of weeds and our grass outgrown. And you’ll only be let in when it’s finished as I’ll not have you entering mud in the house! So better not drink too much water.”

Camellia didn’t even sigh in exasperation at the clear threat. She just replied in kind that yes, she would be careful. She was too busy imagining all the ways she could give her letter to the white and grey owl which had hooted once when she put the garbage out the past morning and another time when she cleaned the bathroom upstairs. That second call had grabbed her attention more forcefully as she had been able to really see that the owl was waiting for her, perched in the tree facing the bathroom’s window.

It was such a beautiful creature that Camellia had been lost to her imagination for a short laps of time before remembering she was supposed to clean and not daydream.

With that in mind, Camellia took care of emptying her bowels and changing in her worst clothes, slipping the creamy white envelope containing the official letter and her reply under her knickers. She didn’t resent her baggy t-shirt so much now that it permitted to hide some things from the hawk eyes of her aunt.

Going out, Camellia subtly eyed the entirety of the backyard as she went to the shed to take the required tools. It was too early to mow the lawn, so she would clean the beds.

As the morning slowly neared its end, she was mostly done with both the front and the back, the envelope still itching her sunken belly with its pointy corners. Every time she felt particularly hot under the ruthless sun, Camellia would sneak a peek at the waiting owl and it would give her courage to continue the arduous task. She left the shed with the mower and profited of the view it gave her to see if her aunt was anywhere near the windows.

Fortunately, Petunia was not hovering about the curtains, spying on unsuspecting neighbours for more gossip to spread in their next weekly tea.

Quickly, before her boost of courage left her completely, she went behind the shed and hooted. Not long after, she was greeted by the beautiful bird landing on her shoulder. It pecked at her messy red hair and nipped her ear before she tentatively told it to stop. Surprisingly, it listened to her and Camellia had a wave of gratefulness for the magical people—if they really existed—who thought of domesticating owls and not dogs to deliver their mails.

She hated dogs fiercely.

Her hands trembling a bit, she brought out from under her shirt the envelope and the owl took it into its beak, locking its yellow eyes with her green ones once before breaking the contact and taking flight in the never-ending blue sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pride myself in being a very meticulous person, but I would appreciate greatly if you could write in the comment section if you ever see a grammar or spelling mistake! Thank you! Unfortunately, I had to rewrite the story in its entirety when I realized I didn't like where it was going, so it will take longer between the updates, but what can I say... I am at the mercy of my imagination!


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